


Cold as Your Heart

by Pingoodle (ThatAloneOne)



Series: Steal Your Heart [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAloneOne/pseuds/Pingoodle
Summary: Twenty-year-old Meadhbh Tuller is more than ready for a nice vacation. Her boyfriend, Grayson Hemmington, kindly offers his cabin for a retreat.  When the blizzard starts, Meadhbh is the only one prepared to deal with the storm - both inside, and outside.





	Cold as Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my disclaimer: this is old. I love it to pieces, but it isn't something that Current Me wrote, or maybe would have written. Also, mind the "Choose Not To Warn".
> 
> This story was originally written in a hurt rage at a boy in my class who had been awful to me. It was also written to address the fact that some readers didn't think Meadhbh was "really" like that in Steal Your Heart.

Sometimes, no matter how long or hard you've loved someone, they'll never love you back.

_— Jean Norvy_

"Honey, darling," Grayson, my self-assumed boyfriend said, his tone oozing with well meaning sexism. He wasn't in love with me yet, but I could see the finish line wavering up ahead. Or more accurately, I could smell it — Axe body spray, the perfume for men who were Real Men. "Do you really need all those clothes?"

My lips curved up in a simpering impersonation of a smile. Men always wanted that — simple, flat attempts at humanity. He didn't expect me to be anything more than a set of breasts with a set of shapely legs to carry me around. It was good for both of us — I got some lovely expensive bras, complements of the Hemmington family account, and he got to assume that I was his.

Or maybe they were both for the betterment of me. It didn't really matter.

"Gray, you know us women. I can't wear the same thing twice!" I waved a freshly manicured hand, also complements of the Hemmington family account. I'd almost be sad to see Grayson go. Although he was the epitome of a bratty frat boy, he had an account to die for. Literally.

I'd decided, somewhere around eighteen, that I was going to find myself hilarious. Even if I never got to express the amusement outwardly, it was worth it to admit my hilarity.

I was packing so many clothes for a much more interesting reason than womanly pride. After that lovely spontaneous trip to Algonquin when I was young, I did a second crash course in survival. I learned all I could get my hands on about knots, bug repellants, navigation, and even _more_ edible plants than I'd known already.

In this situation, I didn't need to be surviving the bugs, or searching for food. All I needed to do was be warm. Easy, in comparison to pretty much anything else I'd been through. Layers, and never, ever wear cotton clothing again. I was tempted to just toss all of it. To be fair, I was pretty sure at least one of my shirts had blood on them from one ex or another. Things tended to get a little out of control in the latter part of the relationship. It was amazing how much damage someone could do in between confessing their undying love and being murdered.

Grayson rolled his eyes — green shot through with so much brown it technically counted as hazel, though he would do anything to refute it. "Honey, you really try me sometimes."

He reached out and reeled me in, hand settling in around my waist. I kissed him first, tugging at his bottom lip and pressing my body flush with his. His hand was clammy beneath my shirt, and it wasn't just the temperature difference between my stuttering heart and his healthy one. He was nervous about this trip, as much as a man like him could be nervous. I could feel it through his heavy breaths as I drew back, leaning my weight back against his grip. Even so, his hands slid up, inexorably attracted to my bra latch.

I laughed, breathy and careful. "Now, now. We need to finish packing for our cabin in the woods before we get into other things."

Grayson smiled, lazy and reassured, and I smiled right back as we got back to packing our clothes in our duffles. We were both looked forwards to our secluded cabin in the woods, though I got the feeling our ideal getaways hit different ends of the cliché spectrum.

I liked mine better, but I would.

* * *

The path leading up to Grayson's quaint little private cottage was half out of a RomCom and half out of a horror movie. Snow fluttered out from the oblique grey sky, and there was already a picturesque dusting over everything. I shivered obligingly, as if I'd ever buy a coat that didn't keep me warm. Some people sacrificed function for form. I dated a designer. We all get it done somehow.

The house itself was just as idyllic as the snow. It was a shame, because that just made it look like a chainsaw killer was waiting inside. I bet the killer'd have a better heart than Grayson — he worked out for vanity instead of for health, which didn't tend to lend itself to a heart free of grease clots. He was rich, though, which just about made up for it. Now that I was getting older and properly settled into my extraordinary biology, I was getting close to two months on my hearts. I'd sacrifice a week for some comfortable bras, no competition.

Mother hadn't told me about that, that someday I'd be able to last longer on my hearts. Maybe it was to scare me. Ever past Maura's death, she liked to do that. Maybe she was scared, herself. She'd lost one child to wayward morals, and she had been determined not to lose another. I was grateful. She'd taught me more than I could ever imagine, and every piece of it has turned out to be useful. Like how to survive, even when captured. How to keep my wits about myself, even when in pain.

How to hunt. That was the most important skill of all.

I let Grayson lug the bags up to the deck, though even with my dwindling strength I could've done it in my sleep. Waste not, want not. I wanted that heart in perfect working order before I took possession of it. Unlike _Mab_, I actually _cared_ about what I was putting in my body.

Grayson nudged my side, and for once my reaction was real. I startled, then smiled, wide and guileless. He smiled back, uncomfortable, the sort of man that had left both the hair dryer and the oven on at home. "Honey, do you have the keys?"

"No," I told him, blinking like I was dazzled. I was. By his stupidity. He'd left them in the car, still in the ignition. If I had more interest in his wealth than his organs, I could've sped off and left him sitting outside his dinky little cabin in December. Oh, the possibilities. "I thought you had them! You had them when we left, right?"

I certainly _hoped_ so. It was a whole new level of pathetic to hotwire your own car.

Grayson scratched his snapback. Even in the winter, he insisted on wearing it over his fringed, curly hair. I thought he looked hideous. When he pledged his heart to me, the second thing I was going to do was burn it. "Did you see it in the car?"

I feigned thinking, and then surprise, and then a shiver. Underneath my fleece lined leggings, I had on a pair of high tech long underwear. Under my shirt, I had the same. The only way I'd be getting cold out here was if I decided to build myself a couple igloos. "Oh! All of the keys, like the key ring!" I giggled. Even to my own ears, it was saccharine. "That's still in the car, yeah!"

Grayson sighed and stooped to let our luggage down onto the deck. I could see goosebumps on the part of his arms visible from under his fashionably-too-short cuffs. Idiot. "Can you get it?"

"I don't want to ruin my boots." We both looked down at my boots, sturdy leather things sporting the smallest heel available in women's footwear. I pouted. "I forgot to waterproof them, Gray, and it's snowing!"

Since I'd done nothing but reinforce his negative perceptions of my intellect ever since we'd met, he bought it. Which, quite honestly, said something negative about _his_ intellect. I watched him trudge back out to his shiny new Jeep, not so shiny anymore after a trip down a winding country road. I thought it looked quite fetching.

I didn't necessarily like cars, but I adored going _fast_. Maybe I'd choose a race car driver next, and get him to take me for a spin. Yes, that sounded like a wonderful idea. Where was the nearest track? Toronto, hopefully. I hoped it wasn't in the states. It was such a bother to hop the border without a passport. With the SRC still hot on my trail, or lukewarm, as it were, I wasn't going to take any risks at them tracking my whereabouts. One interment had been intolerable. Naythan had been so revoltingly earnest, and the scientists had been so bumbling that I could have studied _myself_ and done a better job.

Not to mention the lasagna. Even four years later, the memory was despicable.

Grayson returned, and struggled to open the door with frozen fingers. I winked at his back, and scratched my finger with a leather-glove clad middle finger. It felt good, though he couldn't see it. Scratching two types of itches in one gesture. Two birds, meet stone.

Finally, after a struggle that I pretended to care about, he let us in. The interior of the cabin was, if anything, colder than the outdoors. A thin layer of dust coated the coat hangers, shaped like charming delicate flowers that probably didn't exist anywhere on this continent. My hat — classily a subtle green, yellow, grey, and black — and Grayson's coat took a couple tries to stay.

The aesthetic continued in the rest of the house — flowery, ornate, and largely useless. The sofa was adorned in a floral pattern so horrendous that even that techie loser Naythan would've been loath to use it. Thankfully, the interior designer had decided to go with the original wood panelling on the walls instead of the hellish wallpaper they'd doubtless wanted to go with. I was grateful for the small mercies.

Grayson stood beside me, waiting on tenterhooks. I hoped they dug in. I drunk in the sights, memorizing every little detail that could help me. There were no sappy valentines displayed on the brick mantelpiece, which was a shame, but to be expected. I waited, waited, until the tension hit just the right point.

Then, I spun, and enveloped my target in my arms. I could feel his heart beating, even through his flannel. I grinned, putting all my pleasure at a secluded, quiet little spot into my expression. I imagined sunbeams, like I was a sun that could flood his entire being with warmth.

"This is lovely, really, Gray, but where's our room?"

* * *

A brief interlude later, I wandered into the kitchen. It wasn't as loud as the rest of the cabin, which was a relief. I half wanted to call Tulip and inform her that she had a room dedicated to her likeness, but she was busy. Even though she was five years out from Stealer adulthood, Tia was on full crackdown. I'd already given her the Algonquin talk, at least, in case her mother tried to spring it on her early.

My family had some traditions that might've seemed... odd, to others, but I loved my family more than I loved anything. Even though I loved travelling and the thrill of the endless chase, I missed the camaraderie. Stealers were an endless community, even when we didn't like each other. We all knew one thing that nobody else did. We all _were_ something else that nobody else was. I wouldn't trade this life for anything. There would be too much to lose.

I rummaged through the cupboards, looking for something appropriately seductive. Coffee? Not fancy enough. Crackers? No. Just... no. I don't think even _I_ could seduce someone's heart out of them with crackers.

Since we'd been in the master bedroom, which contained the only bookshelf in the cabin, I'd already checked for poetry books. Nothing. Even if I could get reception out here, it would just be too much to ask him to read me poetry off my phone. I wasn't that desperate. I'd wait until the flowers got to me before I tried that. I got the feeling I was allergic.

The last cabinet was a bit of a surprise. Instead of plates, or wineglasses, or something normal, it was chock-full of hot chocolates. They each had a colourful label, with a flower and cramped handwriting that cheerfully notated their meanings. Hot chocolate with extra cocoa, for your bitter days, adorned with a shrivelled daisy. Someone had painted a belladonna over the Tim Horton's label. I could appreciate that.

I browsed through the whole rack, marvelling at the sheer _number _and variety the Hemmingtons had added to their hot chocolate. I had no idea people actually added chili peppers to their hot chocolates. And then, last but not least, hot chocolate with extra sugar, for your sweetheart. It boasted a very detailed picture of a red rose.

My, my. It was almost as if the Hemmington family was endorsing my use of their son.

I wrestled the tap into producing water, and got started on boiling the kettle, my mind already working away at how I was going to present this. Snow fell outside the window, nearing a blizzard. I huddled deeper into my coat, and allowed my true smile to come through. My faint reflection peered back at me — wild hair, wild eyes, and a wild soul.

I liked hot chocolate.

* * *

I slid onto the sofa next to Grayson, though my eyes were begging me not to. After the visual respite of the kitchen, it was a shock to get back into the thick of things. The sooner I got out of this monstrosity of a cabin in the woods, the happier I'd be. The healthier, too. I could feel his heart calling me, if I stared at the flowers too long. You couldn't technically be allergic to fake flowers, but I was ready to make a case for it.

Grayson was still manfully pretending he wasn't cold, though I could feel him shaking. I wanted to shake _him_, but instead I huddled in close and handed him the hot chocolate. He nearly dropped it, fumbling the handle with frozen fingers. Screaming internally, I steadied his hand and pretending it was just because I loved touching him _so much_.

No matter how much everyone talked about how much they _love love loved_ their partners, I could never quite understand it. Oh, I knew what love was. I loved my family, so, so much. But the fluttery, butterflies-and-fireflies kind of love that everyone gushed about? Fake. That's what that was. Fake. Sure, everyone managed to delude themselves pretty well about it, but that's all it was — a delusion. I made no such mistakes.

"It's the red rose," I told him, chewing on my lip artfully enough that I didn't muss my lipstick. It was red, like the rose on the hot chocolate tin, but I preferred to think of it more as the colour of blood. "For um, sweethearts?" I made it a question, instead of a statement. For Grayson, the less I knew, the more charming I was. "I thought. That's what we were?"

Any other girl would have been at least a little more sure about that statement. Grayson's ideal girl, unfortunately, had the backbone of an invertebrate. In other words? She didn't have one. If I was to win his heart, I needed to be his ideal girl.

That was the annoying part about hunting. I _did_ enjoy the complexities of donning different identities, but I did _not_ enjoy being a simpering nonsense of a girl. Maybe my race car driver would like a girl that could stand up for herself.

I could always wish.

Grayson's face played through a full spectrum of emotions, ranging from lust to surprise, taking a second pit stop at lust, and ending at contemplation. I could see the thoughts playing out over his face like cogs in a malfunctioning machine — was it worth it, to claim Beatrice Gigolo as his sweetheart?

I was having fun with my false names, I really was. I'd branched off from that original, boring "Mary". It was my goal to never use a name twice. Depending if I lived as long as Mother, that would be a _long_ list of names. I was looking forwards to it.

"...yes," he decided, finally. Only his ideal girlfriend wouldn't have been insulted with how long it had taken him to decide. "Sweethearts."

Getting there. I leaned in closer, locking my _actually_ green eyes with his hazel, and taking his hot chocolate to set on the coffee table. When the hand was free, I pressed it to my chest. It wasn't quite where my heart was, but it was close enough. "Gray, I know we've only been together for a few months but... if I'm being honest with you, you own my heart."

Sometimes, the oldest tricks were the best tricks. Grayson's eyes clouded over, and as I'd hoped, the only words that found their way to his mouth were the mirrors of mine. "You can own my heart too, honey. I want you to be happy."

"Believe me," I told him, and winked. It wasn't quite enough to bring him out of the sugar and breast stupor, even with the unrestrained glee in my voice "I am."

I leaned forward, went in as if for a kiss, and stole his heart.

** PARRY SOUND NORTH STAR **

Grayson Hemmington, son of international fashion mogul Grace Hemmington, was found dead after an unexpected blizzard that blasted through Parry Sound area. He was found huddled on the deck, his key broken in the lock by the newsboy, likely days after his death. He passed away quickly, of hypothermia-induced cardiac arrest. He wasn't wearing a coat, or even a hat, and the temperatures had dropped well below zero.

There was some movement inside the cabin — dust cleared off the coat racks, a mug half-full of hot chocolate on the table — but Grayson's coat was on the coat rack, and only his possessions were inside. He evidently entered, made himself comfortable, then went back to his car to fetch something and locked himself out.

The community is deeply sorrowful for his early passing, and our thoughts will be with his mother, Grace Hemmington, and his sister, Alura Callsway. If they need anything in this time of grief, the residents of Parry Sound will gladly reach out. The Hemmingtons are a longstanding part of our town, and we will not forget the solitary member than perished here.

Deaths are not just a statistic. They represent a person that will no longer be able to laugh, and smile, and love someone with all their heart. We hope that Grayson Hemmington can rest in peace, and that nobody else will die the way he did — cold and alone. We remind everyone to layer up in this cold snap, and make sure you all know how to survive in the outdoors.

We all put our hopes towards Grayson's death being a solitary incident, and again, our thoughts toward his family. Rest in peace.


End file.
